From Now To Eternity
by iluvaqt
Summary: In 324 B.C., Hephaestion married Persian princess Drypetis, this is her story. Part 2, Alexander's story.
1. Drypetis

"From Now To Eternity"  
by iluvaqt

**Disclaimer: **Based on historical events and historical figures, but the story told is largely fictional. No money is being made from the use of these names. It is written solely for the enjoyment or perhaps, more so, to the humor of history buffs.  
**Summary:** Set between 325 - 324 B.C., Aliza/Drypetis POV.  
**Rating:** R (nudity/adult themes)  
**Code: **Short  
**Notes: **Please do not archive elsewhere. Thank you.  
**Acknowledgments: **Thank you to Ryan (pugsly3) for the beta.

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It was the day of the new moon, in the 7th month of the year that our King Alexander married Barsine, daughter of King Darius. The fair and wise daughter of our once great ruler. I was her closest sister. Although, not by blood. Taken from childhood from the home of my father. My ancestors, captives from Judah many years before. King Nebecudnezzar invaded our lands and took many back to Babylon. My family among them. After my father died, my uncle took me to the palace and brought me before King Darius. He asked that I might serve in the king's household, for he could not provide for me.

My uncle was a selfish man, he had only one wife and child to care for, yet he could not spare more to care for both my mother and myself.

The king was gracious and because I was thought fair in his eyes, he claimed me as his own and sent me to live with the women of his household.

On the day that King Alexander took a Persian princess as his wife, in Susa, and many others were given in a mass wedding ceremony. I was among them. The feast and celebrations lasted five days. And on the night of the last evening, I committed to my vows and went to seek my husband.

Hephaestion, was King Alexander's confidant. His right-hand, his brother and his closest friend. It was no secret that there was more than friendship between the two. And it was also no secret that Roxane despised that. Perhaps more so in the beginning than toward the end. Alexander's obsession with his campaign, his dream, were what she resented most. It is what she believed took him from her.

I envy Roxane. Not because she had Alexander and not because of the title she holds. Being Queen of Alexandria is not what my heart desires. Not even seeing the lands of my ancestors Judah, could heal my broken heart.

If I could have one wish, and one wish only, it would be that to have Hephaestion's son. More time with him. As I think back, the days passed by so quickly. Yet as I stand here now, thinking of him, studying him in my mind's eye, every moment we were together is etched into my memory and will last for all time.

It was to be our wedding night. And as most women with my inexperience, I was both anxious and excited about what was to come. My husband was a very attractive man, tall with broad shoulders and a well toned chest. He wore his garments with no air of superiority. They were merely a necessity, not a statement. The man quite definitely had a commanding presence, but not because of his station or voice, but because of a regal aura that accompanied him. Quiet and mysterious, but with the gentlest eyes I'd ever seen. I had seen him only once before our betrothal, and even though I was surprised that I was chosen as his intended, I was secretly glad. Being married to a Persian would have led to a very different way of life. Alexander's ways allowed women more freedom. They could study any art or craft they wished. They were educated and treated with respect. And in my husband I saw kindness and wisdom. I would never be mistreated by him.

The chamber was bathed in a glow of flickering lamps. The bed was draped with fur and fine silks. He was standing at the far end of the room. His back was to the door. My maid servant silently retreated from the room after ushering me in. He had not sent for me, but it was customary for the husband and wife to consummate their marriage on the first night, so I went to him.

The robe that hung from my shoulders did little to shield my warmth. The cool air of the large room soon left my skin chilled, and I pulled the edges of my cloak tighter around me. I stepped toward him. Small steps. Did he know I was in his room?

He turned then, and his face stole my breath away. In the dim light he was even more devastating to look upon. It was his features were carved by God himself. Smoothly shaven and his hair loose about his shoulders, he looked like an avenging angel. My gazed travelled from his face, down his neck to the open expanse of his gown. The robe was loose and was barely held in place by the cord knotted about his waist. The robe exposed his muscled chest and the matt of hair that covered his pectorals and ran down his body and disappeared beneath the area the gown still kept hidden. I found myself blushing and it only deepened further when I realized I had been openly staring at him.

"If you wish me to leave, my lord."

He quieted me with a look. I bowed my head out of respect and he crossed the room to where I stood.

"Do not bow before any man. Least of all me." He lifted my chin with his index finger and thumb. "I should not have consented to this. It is unjust. Unfair to you. Unfair to us both."

The unfairness he spoke of, it confused me. Had he not wanted to marry? Was I not what he wished for in a wife. Perhaps he did not want a wife. In his eyes he held measure of doubt and hurt, but the feelings were quickly masked. Did he have doubts about me? Or doubts about himself...

"You must stay," he said gently. His thumb traced my jaw. His fingers were rough against the skin of my cheek. He dropped his hand, as his eyes lingered at the throat of my gown. The fine hairs on my skin bristled as his eyes met mine. He reached for my hand and squeezed it softly. "Goodnight, sweet Aliza."

My heart seized in my chest long before his lips touched mine. It was but a whisper of a kiss, nothing that could cause a woman to swoon. It was hearing my Hebrew name from his mouth that had touched me. How he had known I still do not know. None but King Darius and his closest subjects had known of my heritage. For he had given me a Persian name the day he took me into his house. Drypetis. I suspect that Alexander never knew this. For he wished that someday Hephaestian's sons and his would be blood kin. Fairer in complexion, and with hazel eyes, I have often wondered why none suspect that I am not Darius's daughter. Perhaps they do but to not dare speak aloud lest they fall out of the King's favour.

Not once more did he touch me after he led me to our marriage bed. Throughout the night I wondered if I could have protested the match myself. King Alexander had always insisted on women's freedom. No woman could be forced upon against her will. But what of marriage? Could that not be considered the same? But as I gazed upon my husband's sleeping face, my heart would have none other. Eyes blue as the clear afternoon sky, lips soft as freshly spun silk, the proud lines of his jaw, and the tight cords of his arms. Arms that I longed to touch. I could almost feel what quiet reassurance and comfort they would offer. He was a warrior from within. He was honourable, proud and fierce. And love and loyalty to his king was displayed more beautifully in every action that any eloquent or regal speech ever could. This man was more than any of my dreams had ever conjured. Yet, he was further out of reach that the distant lands I had once thought of as home.

I did not cry myself to sleep. I simply closed me eyes and allowed sleep to come. By morning my husband was gone. Long roused from slumber, his place beneath the sheets were cool. But there was something else. It was sticky and wet. I threw back the covers, now fully awake. There on the soft fur it stood out with taunting clarity. Deep crimson soaking and setting into the fine cream hairs of the lambskin. A tear slipped down my cheek. So this was how it was to be.

A few months later, King Alexander commissioned Hephaestian to lead his men on a expedition to explore and chart his territory along the rivers and boarders of Babylonia. During the expedition, Hephaestian and many of the other men fell ill. We lost many days camping beside the river Euphrates. With it being several days journey from Ur, the few women of the camp gave care to the men, while a group of soldiers traveled to Ur for a physician and medicines. I cared for many during that long wait, and after. It was a harrowing and exhausting time, and it was Hephaestian who I worried for most. He was also my worst patient. Proud and indignant even in his delirium.

"Leave me," he growled.

"You need water," I insisted pressing the cup to his lips.

His eyes glittered dangerously under his sweat moistened lashes. "Others need it more..." he grated, and then coughed. The coughing lasted several moments and he was severely laboured after the ordeal.

Outside the temperature was high, and the sun beat down on the earth with scorching intensity. But it almost seemed cool in comparison to the fever I felt radiating from his being. I was torn between continuously dosing him with cold water and layering him with blankets. He was sick.

As I lifted my hand again, with frightening speed he grasped it in his. With strength I didn't know he had, he pulled himself upright and stared at me with a steely but half glassy eyes. The set of his jaw told me how much control his was exerting at that very moment, restraining himself from giving into his pain, his weakness.

Hephaestian was good at hiding his weaknesses. The injury he sustained years ago in Gaugamela. He still used his injured arm, his shield arm. Watching him in training or in battle you would believe it was never injured. His self-control and determination made it so. But privately, he allowed the mask to fall. On more than one occasion I'd witnessed him throw something in frustration, when his injured arm refused to perform to his satisfaction.

"Please go," he grated through his clenched jaw. Sweat beaded across his brow and his usually healthy tanned skin was dull and splotchy.

"I know you believe that you cannot give me your heart, my dear Hephaestion," I said gently, as I held his gaze with unflinching calm. "But please do not stop me from giving you mine. Let me love you. Let me care for you."

His grip slackened and tears pooled in his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply but no words came forth. He allowed me to ease him back into the pillows. He didn't resist this time as I dipped the cloth in the bowl and began to bath his face. Something between us changed that afternoon. After the physician administered his medicine to the men, most of them recovered. The sickness had taken our camp for ten days. Only one man died, and they believed it was not the sickness that killed him but an infection he had developed from an untreated wound. He had hidden it and it had gotten infected, he had died before the men returned to the camp.

In the days that followed, I noticed the difference in my husband. He smiled more openly when our eyes met. And I found his eyes follow me when I was close by. We returned to Babylon after charting the territory along the Tigris. And it was then during those few short months that I will remember Hephaestion, as the happiest I had ever seen him. Those are the memories that I prefer to keep, than those of the loss I felt after.

It was one cool evening, late on the rooftop of our home. I often went out at night, long after the rest of the household were asleep. I would go out to think. To look at the stars and study their place in the heavens. And also, look out across the land toward where I knew Judah to be. It was that night that I pondered asking Hephaestion if we might journey there some day. And as though he could hear my thoughts, he had appeared.

"Do you miss your family?" he whispered.

I felt his arm encircle my waist. It had been so long since I had felt his touch. Unconsciously, I leaned into him relishing the warmth and strength of his chest against my back. "My mother died three years ago, and my father long before that. My father's family I have not seen, since my uncle took me to the king..." Having him close, feeling so at ease with him, I had unwittingly disclosed more than I had to anyone before. He used my birth name whenever we were alone, yet I did not know how much he knew about my lineage.

Sensing my tension, he turned me to face him. "Princess or captive it means naught to me. It is you that I see. And it is you that I care for," he said softly.

In the depth of his clear blue eyes I could see his heart. It was no longer so distant or closed as it once was. And for the first time I noticed that he looked upon me with hunger, desire. But there was also uncertainty betrayed on his face. This man, this fearless and capable captain, the king's vizier, was uncertain about coming to his own wife.

I trailed my hand over the embroidered lapel of his golden robe, and ran my fingers into his thick brown locks, trapping his head. Coming closer, I leaned up toward him and placed a kiss on his lips. He didn't respond, and disappointed and confused I dropped my hand and stepped back. My head bowed, I missed the look on his face, but what I heard in his voice lifted my spirits.

"Aliza," he whispered with thick husky voice.

Meeting his eyes I saw tears of happiness. Overjoyed I threw my arms around his neck and embraced him with all the feeling I had.

He chuckled softly and scooped me into his arms and carried me back into the house. When we reached his chamber, he didn't let me free. He shifted me in his arms and pulled open the door. Inside a single lamp burned by the window. He set me down on the edge of the bed, and stood back. As he looked down at me, I had a chance to really look at him. He was wearing a thin robe and nothing else. His feet were bare and the loosened robe gaped open exposing his smooth tanned flesh. My gaze travelled lower and I caught sight of a growing bulge below his abdomen. I blushed and averted my eyes hoping that the dim light would hide my naivety. He had come looking for me. Was this the first time? How many nights had I missed by wondering about the palace? How foolish I was.

On our return from the expedition, still we had not properly shared a marriage bed. I had waited three sleepless nights, alone in my chamber wondering if anything had changed at all. Refusing to wait any longer, I had gone back to my old past times. I studied with our Persian tutor into the early hours of the morning. Took long walks along the great city wall, charted stars with the astrologers of the palace and took notes and plotted the heavens with them. Rarely did I return before dawn. Had I wasted all that time?

"Sweet Aliza, it is I who is naive," he surprised me with his words, and I looked up to find him kneeling before me. He took my hands in his. "I always knew where to find you, but I did not care to look. You made me feel, things I wanted to forget. Until I realized that the feelings you stir in me are natural, beautiful, and for you alone. Dear Aliza..."

I couldn't see him clearly though my tears, but I could feel his breath against my skin. I could barely move when his lips touched my throat. His kisses traveled downward. The hollow at the base of my throat, the curve of my collar bone, and lower to the swell of my breast. My breath caught, and his movements stilled for a moment. He looked up at me, his eyes glazed with emotion.

"Do not stop," I whispered.

He nodded and took my mouth. His kiss was sweet, and all my longing feed upon it. I reached up and ran my fingers though his hair, pulling his head closer. He parted my lips with his tongue and teased mine to follow. I could taste him for eternity and never tire of it. When he finally broke our kiss, I was breathless and flushed. I didn't even remember how I had come to be lying in the middle of the bed.

Although his mouth left mine, his lips didn't stray far. He nibbled on my earlobe and I giggled at the sensation. A heat had begun to stir inside me, it was slow in building but with every kiss and caress from his hands and his lips, I was fast becoming feverish.

"Hephaestion," I moaned. My hands found a course of their own, as his traveled down my sides. I slipped inside the opening of his robe, and I pushed it over one shoulder. Not liking that he was getting to explore me, and not being able to do so in return was torture. I linked my leg over one of his and pushed off the bed with all my strength. It had the desired effect. I turned us and he was now under me, and I was on top of him.

He didn't seem to mind. Although, not only had I pinned my husband to the bed, but my actions had brought me in direct contact with his proud manhood. The cord of his robe and long since slipped free and his warm naked body was now pressed firmly beneath mine. His throbbing arousal resting against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. For the second time that night, I blushed profusely. Sitting up he held me in his lap, but put a little space between our sexes and air back into my lungs.

"It is unfair that I should be divest of clothing, and you my sweet are not," he said softly teasing.

I smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. "So many things are unfair between us," I replied in kind.

"I love my sweet Aphrodite."

The words rolled so easily of his tongue that I would almost have missed them had they not been the few words I had been waiting so long to hear.

"I love you, my husband," I whispered as I kissed his neck.

His hands pushed the hem of my gown up my thighs, I lifted my bottom so he could bring the fabric up to my waist. He gathered the material in his hands and I lifted my arms so he could pull it over my head.

Naked I felt anything but cold under his attentions.

"Perfect and beautiful," he breathed, as he kissed a sensitive spot on my neck. I leaned into his lips. Loving the sensations they were stirring under my skin. It was like a feather-light touch that left a slow spreading tide of heat over every inch of my body, and pooling in a pit that was tightening in my belly.

"I need more, Hephaestion," I moaned as he licked and suckled at my breasts.

"I do not want to hurt you," he said his voice breaking, his eyes searching mine.

"You won't," I said confidently, my gaze never breaking. I said it not knowing if it were true, he was so strong and so much bigger than I and truthfully I had no idea if it would be painful. But even if it was, for his sake I would not let it show.

He gently lay me back on the bed and moved over me. He kissed my belly and then my navel. I could feel him travelling lower and I stopped him, gripping his hair.

"Not like that," I begged. I wanted him with me. I wanted to see his eyes. Watch his face. He looked up at me and I pulled him toward me. I kissed his lips, and then his chin. Claiming his mouth again, I traced my hand down the taut lines of his stomach and timidly wrapped my hand around his manhood.

He groaned against my mouth as I held him. Testing my intuition, I moved my hand down his length and then up again. A groan from deep inside him escaped his lips and his hand gripped mine, stilling its movement.

"You'll end me now," he said, his voice thick. He kissed me again and gently parted my legs with one hand.

At first he tested my entrance, pushing slowly. But then less than part way in, he shuddered and thrust deeply. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. It did hurt, but I would not let it destroy this moment. I kissed his shoulder, and kept my face hidden while the moment of pain passed. As he began moving inside me, the pain started to ebb, and in moments it was nothing more than a dull ache. I focused on the man above me. He was fighting for control. I should have noticed it sooner. The women had often said that the man's actions did not last long. I had lost track of the time. Being with him was as though time stood still. Nothing else mattered but the feeling between us.

I started to move with him, rocking my hips and watching his face. I felt myself stretching inside. The warmth deep within was building, and with each stroke he gave, a tremor struck a chord that rippled across my belly. I gave into the sensations, finding it harder and harder to focus. I wanted to watch him, I wanted to soak in everything, but my body refused to comply. He drove deeper with each movement and I could do nothing but hold him, and drown in the waves that were washing over me.

With one final thrust, he cried, "Aliza." And slowed, till he moved no more. He rested against me. His face glistened in the lamp light, and a few damp strands of hair clung to his temple.

His seed had poured into my womb and I held him there. If only we could stay joined forever in this way. Never had I felt so content, so complete. His breathing returned to its steady rhythm as had mine. I traced large slow circles over his back. And I wrapped one leg over the back of his knees. I intended to keep him locked this way for as long as possible.

Lifting his head, he kissed my cheek and then my lips. He smiled, a heart wrenching, devastatingly handsome smile. Who could resist not smiling in return.

"My only love," I said to him, and for the first time, I saw it reflected in his eyes.

Not taking his eyes from mine, he rolled to his side and brought me with him. Reaching down with one hand he lifted the covers and draped them over us.

"Sleep now, my Aliza."

And I did. For the first time in months, I slept peacefully and contentedly. Safe and blissfully joyful in the arms of my husband.

Less than an a season later, I would watch him die. A mysterious illness, claiming him painfully and suddenly from us. I wished to deny it, but perhaps my heart already knew it at the time. We had the best physician in Ecbatana, and still nothing could be done for him. It happened so unexpectedly.

Exhausted from travelling from Babylon, I retired with the other women of King Alexander's party. It was mid-morning when I went to my husband's chamber to find him still in bed. Sheets clinging to him, covered in sweat, his skin burning with fever and his body wreathing as he struggled for breath. I knew something was wrong even before I come to his side. For Hephaestion was always an early raiser. He rose with the sun and was often about his palace duties before some of the servants were.

Not even a year we had shared together. As it had been for my mother and father, our time had been fleeting. What I had seen as a little girl, my parents marriage was a joyful and loving one. And as a young child I had never felt neglected or lacking of their attention, but that sense of contentment was short lived. As was my marriage.

Alexander was close at hand when Hephaestion left us. I remember what the king said his voice heavy with anguish.

"You must be strong my friend. My brother. I need you. You always give me the truth. You are my guide. I know I said that you would be nothing if it was not for me. But in truth, I am nothing without you. We have still much to explore, my brother."

The king moved from my husband's bedside and went to open the window. In my mind's eye I saw our fair city. Babylon. A city of wealth, beauty and endless opportunity, but it held no joy for me any longer. As I watched my husband struggle for breath, the breeze that travelled through the window, carrying the scent of our mighty Euphrates, it no longer brought hope and renewed vigor for life, but a cold reminder of our fragile mortality.

"We must grow old together. Watch our children play together, as we did. Our journey is not yet over, my dear Hephaestion..." The king turned and saw that Hephaestion lay still in the bed. His lips no longer drawing breath.

I saw it as King Alexander spoke of growing old. The last shudder of breath, and the resigned sigh that followed as his life left his body. All will to move escaped me. I felt a chill crawl up my spine and goose pimples raise on my skin. I wanted to go to him, cradle him to my breast and weep into his hair, but I could not move. I sat at the foot of the bed staring at him. Not believing he was truly gone.

Alexander flew to the bed and buried his face in my husband's chest. And I heard no more but sobbing from a broken man, as he embraced Hephaestion's lifeless body.

I did not cry out, I did not sob while in the presence of the king. For both our sakes I remained silent, but I could not stop the river of tears that flowed down my cheeks. Inside I was crumbling but outside I managed to hold some measure of composure.

The guards posted outside the door heard the King's cry and burst into the room. Outraged at the intrusion in his time of grief, Alexander raged at them.

"Where is the physician?" he growled.

The physician who had hovered silently in the shadows, came forward. "My good king, there was nothing more we could do...he was sick out of his mind... the fever..."

"Kill him," King Alexander ordered, his voice as cold as stone.

His gaze feel upon a cup at Hephaestion's beside. He picked it up and tasted it. Then he turned to me.

"What is this?"

"It was there this morning, my king. I do not know..." my voice wavered as I read the fury in his golden eyes.

"He was murdered," Alexander hissed with anger. "The murderer will be found, and will seek justice for this crime."

And without another glance in my direction he swept out of the chamber and into the hall. Left to my grief, I crawled up the bed and lay beside Hephaestion. I had no doubt that Alexander would follow through with his convictions. Many a time I had seen eyes of jealousy and envy on Hephaestion, but I would have never suspected that someone the king's household would wish him dead.

"Sleep in peace my love," I whispered. "We shall meet again."

Placing a kiss on his lips, I rested my head in the nook of his neck and closed my eyes. Death was not the end. The mortal life was just the beginning of our journey. I would be with my husband once more.

**Feedback is always welcome. Thank you for reading.**

**References:** http: www. livius. org/aj-al/alexander/alexander00. html


	2. Alexander

"From Now To Eternity"  
by iluvaqt

**Disclaimer: **as per default chapter  
**Notes: **For Penelope. To all my readers, I hope I do Alexander justice.

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**  
333 B.C. September, Babylon**

They call it the Battle of Issus. A glorious victory for my men, but a hollow one for me. Long before I reached his camp, Macedonian soldier's had already begun to count and divide the spoils of war. Little joy did I have in riding my enemy's chariot. It is not a victory. Why? Because my enemy still eludes me. This time we were so close that I could almost hear his heart beating furiously in his chest. He has every reason to fear. The greatest enemy of my father. Enemy to Alexander. Soon to be no more.

Hephaestian rode beside my golden chariot, his attention captured by something in the distance. A few of our men were ordering people, pushing them into a line, women and slaves, a long with a few of Darius' soldiers. They were captives. A women stumbled and a soldier kicked her and laughed. I saw Hephaestian's lips thin. He was more merciful than I. Fresh from war, my blood still simmering in my veins I had no time for human graces. So close had he been. Within my grasp, yet he slipt from my fingers.

As I alighted from the chariot, Cassander held open a tent for me. "Yours my lord," he said with a gleaming smile. His cheek was smeared with blood and his long hair hung knotted down his back. He was a man bred to fight. He relished his role as captain. And I had no doubts that he would loose no sleep over what had transpired this day.

I ducked my head and when through the tent flap. Darius had left in a hurry. The treasures that filled the humble abode would bring joy to any man's face. I grinned broadly, eyeing a marble bath that stood to one corner. "So this is what it means to be King." This day I would enjoy a good bathing for the first time in months. Layers of dust, grim, blood and sweat had long encrusted to my body. I had forgotten what it felt like to wear only skin.

But even the king's treasure I beheld, would not satisfy my hunger. Gold and jewels weren't what my ambitions coveted, it was the earth and her people. That was my dream. Alexandria. An empire that spanned further than any man had ever dreamed. Ruled by the Greeks. No one would deny that I was my father's son, the son of a god.

It was much later that evening, that Ptolemy brought a woman before us. She was aged and weary, you could see it in her eyes. The woman had seen too many years, perhaps too many wars. What was she doing here? Her dress suggested that she was from a wealthy family. Was she woman of importance? Perhaps she could be ransomed for a handsome sum. Those thoughts I entertained before I learned who she was.

"Queen Sisygambis, mother of Darius III, king of Persia," the scribe announced, and fell to his knees. The queen looked at me and then at Hephaestian, before bowing low, her pale cheeks wet with tears.

"My son is dead, we ask good and merciful Alexander, King of Macedonia if we may serve you," she said humbly falling to Hephaestian's feet.

There was a snickering somewhere on the other side of the room, but it was quickly stifled as I reached out my hand to the woman, and helped her to her feet. I could see the fright and embarrassment on her face long before she took my hand. "Do not worry, mother. For he is also Alexander." I gave her a comforting smile, despite the humour I felt choking myself. I sent a glance to my friend, who did not look amused at all.

"Pray tell me what service befits you and your daughters?"

The woman looked blank, and then at her scribe who still kept his face inches from the floor.

I looked around the room at my men, and then back to the queen. "Do not fear. For as long as I am ruler, no harm will come to you or your daughters. I welcome you to my family, and you will treated as due to your station." I then passed her hand to Hephaestian, who finally spoke up.

"His word is true, Mother. You will have naught to fear from us." He kissed her hand and bowed his head to her.

The queen smiled gently at both of us and bowed repeatedly as she retreated from the tent.

The scribe scampered backward on his hands and knees after her.

After our uninvited guests were gone, I collapsed into my seat at the head of the table. "Father was right," I mumbled. "Women are more grief than they are worth." Grabbing a skin of wine, I downed it greedily. Sealing it and tossing it across the table, I plucked a fig from the tray and took a bite. "Persian women are such so unkind to my eyes," I scoffed.

The men roared with laughter. Hephaestian, I noted, was strangely silent. I was soon to learn why. I met Darius' women the following morning. And the gods had a laugh on me. Darius' wife, Queen Stateira, was the most beautiful woman my eyes had ever beheld. In his haste, Darius had not only left behind his mother, but his wife and his two young daughters. The once undefeated king, ruler of Persia had left his family at the mercy of his enemy. A fool and a coward. But I would keep my promise. No harm would ever come to them. However, in I promising that Stateira would not be mine, I would be promising that the sun would not rise at dawn.

In secret we met for months, until she could no longer hide her pregnancy. I sent a messenger to Darius saying his wife was with child.

The letter said she was several months a long and desperately needed her husband. The messaged served two purposes. One bid to quell the growing suspicion of involvement with the woman, and the second was in hope of provoking a confrontation with Darius.

Neither succeeded. For within the month of my sending the letter, precious Stateira died in childbirth. My daughter and her mother both dead. I was in a rage for days, unable to openly express my grief, for a woman I never married or acknowledged as my own. And for a child that never drew it first breath.

A message from Macedonia only further infuriated me. From my mother, yet again intent on voicing her thoughts, her endless ranting over her fears for my life, counselling me on the conspirators she knew amongst my ranks. However, none of it was news, long had I grown used to her wiles and over-stretched tales. If it were not for a few short sentences, I would have gone on with my self-induced pity over my losses.

"My dear son, my only blood, it is out of love and concern for you that I speak these words. Nothing have I said of Hephaestian before, and I am reluctant to say it now for fear of the anger it will undoubtedly stir, but I must. For your future and your life are most precious to me. He may yet be turned, my son. Watch him closely. Many know you hear his words, seek his counsel. No man is without a price. Remember this..."

I nearly burned that letter. The boldness of the woman. The outright impertinence...it angered me. If she were standing before me I would have wrung her neck. First my father, now Hephaestian. I would not hear it. I would not tolerate it. I was glad to be a lone, as I paced my tent. Any disturbance at this time, and the intruder would have most likely died.

I immediately replied, listing all that had happened over the last few months - The first confrontation with Darius, the battle at Issus, the capture of the royal family, and the death of Stateira and her unborn child. As guilty and mournful as I felt over her passing, nothing could quell the rage that had spurred upon reading my mother's words.

"..We are two halves cut from the same cloth. Together we are a perfect whole. He has the patience I lack, the wisdom beyond his years, and the soothing calm I so desperately need. He has the heart of a king, where as I have the heart of a conqueror. Where I am strong, he is weak. And where I am weak, he is my strength. It is why I cannot let you come between us, Mother. It is why your words fall on deaf ears. Hephaestian is more than my companion. Castor and Pollux. Zeus' honoured Gemini. Inseparable and unmatchable. Thus we are. Love I have for you mother. Do not doubt that. But speak of him again in such a manner, and I will cut myself off from you. His soul is my own."

Hephaestian did not see the letter. He usually read all my missives, but this time I was intensely grateful that I was alone. I could not pour out my soul with passion, without upsetting him. Hephaestian, the peacemaker. It worried him to no end, that I kept my mother at a distance. His own mother had died when he was a child. He missed her terribly and often thought me ungrateful for not indulging the loving, although often-obsessive mother I did have. He would have cautioned me against riling her. To leave her be. I know he had asked for her blessings and understanding in the past, but still she would not give it. Her heart seemed intent on planting seeds of doubt and discord against all men. She would love nothing more than to see us ended and herself as my only confidant.

From the time we were boys, students of Aristotle, Hephaestian was the only one I could count on to see me as an equal, to challenge me in all things. I am a better man because of him. He does not fear me, but he respects me. There are men who I know fear me, but do not respect me. I would have ten thousand of the former, before a handful of the latter. For what good are they, but to plan and scheme your demise?

It would be many years later, seasoned by a marriage of political convenience and bitten by a woman scorned, that I would learn what real love meant. And even though it was only for a short time, those months would bring more joy and meaning to my life than all the campaigns I had waged.

**  
324 B.C., February, Susa**

Two years earlier we had taken the gorge, the last garrison and stronghold of the Susian defences. Many subjects of Darius' household had taken up residence there, moving from Babylon, and returning to their ancestors' city. The city itself was far from the grandeur of Babylon, but it had a warm, and welcoming air to it. Perhaps it was because Darius' grandfather had built up the city himself. He had a vision, just as I have, of what his empire should look like. He was just less farsighted. Why settle for the Medo-Persia, when you could unite all the free peoples of the earth under one banner, one king?

The heavy gates opened and a thunderous cheer broke out. It was never ending like the sound of the rain in the forest, falling on though the trees.

The masses that lined the streets, contributed to a beautiful sea of colour. Red and gold ribbons drifted from the sky, falling on the path before us. Children waved palm frons and ran before the chariot. At every turn I saw people waving and smiling. I held up my hand and acknowledged them as the horses edged on. It was the first time I really felt like a king. After my father died, I left my birthplace almost immediately. My ascension to the through felt too convenient, too contrived, I did not wish the people to mull over the change in rulership too long. Besides, I'd been waiting for the opportunity to begin my dream for as long as I could remember. And without anyone to appose my plans, I eagerly left Mesopotamia.

It was late in the day when we reached the palace. Alighting from the chariot I went into the Great Hall, where Princess Barsine waited. Eight years ago, after their mother died. I sent Queen Sisygambis and her granddaughters Barsine and Drypetis, back to their homeland. After Stateira's death, I could not bear to look upon, their sad and sorrow-filled eyes. Under their stare, the guilt I thought was long buried would consume me with such force it was as though Stateira herself had come back to taunt me.

Queen Sisygambis did not understand why I wished to send her away. She thought it was because she had displeased me in some way. How wrong she could have been. It was her loyalty, and her willing heart that made me see what a self-serving and callous man I was. I had taken her only daughter and used her. I had taken another man's wife, bed her and made her with child. Then instead of marrying her and doing the honourable deed, I had hid her away. Pretending it was Darius' child she carried, and that had ultimately caused her death. Seeing Sisygambis and her granddaughters made me reflect on things I wished to deny. Things I wished to forget. So I sent them away.

As I approached, the princess raised her head. It was only the briefest of eye contact. I saw her face for a second. It could have been a trick of the light, had I not been afflicted with a memory worthy of an artist. A flash of imagery, and it would be emblazed into my mind with devastating clarity for all time. I saw Stateira. Barsine was the mirror of her mother. The sight of her caused my heart to pound to a stand still in my chest. The air in my lungs left with a strangled sob. She was stunningly beautiful, and had the grace of a queen. Her head bowed and on bended knee, she stretched out her hand to me. I humbly took it. I raised her hand, brushing it with my lips in the gentlest of contact. My body was working, and I was moving without comprehension. I raised her chin with my forefinger, hoping the inner turmoil was not written on my face. I was torn with the desire to see her face again, and not doing so, knowing what it would do to my conscience.

"Dismiss the men, leave us. We will discuss our plans tomorrow," I said, without even looking in their direction. She studied me with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness.

Alone in the Great Hall, she spoke. "My grandmother would have been honoured to welcome you, she is no longer with us," she confided softly. "I heard that you were close, and I am sorry."

"We were, and had I known she was ill I would have tried to come sooner." I felt annoyance as soon as the lie fell from my lips. It was an insult, instead of the feeble attempt at sympathy that I had intended. My condolences for her mother had not been much better. A smart man would have learnt to keep foolish words to himself. Unfortunately I was not.

"You must be weary. Come, we have prepared a meal for you."

Her gentle manner, and her warm smile were a pleasant change for me. It was like entering a dream. I was alone for the first time in months. No one demanded my attention. There were no gruff and coarse voices within hearing, and from what seemed like another lifetime, I felt no sand or dirt beneath my feet. She led me to a chamber filled with a sweet aroma. Rose oil drifted to my nose, and I inhaled deeply. Lamps burned in every corner of the darkened room. A pool filled with warm water, beckoned to me. The top of the water was sprinkled with flower petals, which hid the watery depths from view.

"Bathe," she said. "I will return when you are ready to take your meal."

A wicked smile curled my lips. I pictured her joining me now, and not for food. It was not the type of sustenance that my body hungered for at this moment. It had been so long since I had enjoyed a woman's company. A feminine form, that curved so well against mine. Exquisite softness that craved to be explored, tasted. When I sought the object of my fantasy, I found myself alone. She was gone.

I thought back to the year crossing the desert, a defiant stand to test my fate. My men suffered greatly for my pride. Then my pride had brought suffering on many counts over the last few years. In my haste to seal our people's lands, I had taken Roxane as my bride with no thought for Barsine. Fate blessed me with two Barsines in my life. Were I a man to pay more heed to the counsels of others I might not have bed them both. Women were no trivial matter. Perhaps goddess Isara would have looked upon me more favorably had I done so her daughters.

Mere weeks before Barsine had given me a son, it took Roxane as my wife. Fond as I was of Barsine, she could not be my bride. Though we both never made any vows of commitment or love, I knew she felt bitter over my Asian bride. Barsine I knew from childhood. I knew her father, and brother. So did Hephaestian. It was his discretion on my behalf that kept her from making her scorn for me known. He have her a generous dowry, and sent her to Babylon. I have since heard that she has married, providing Heracles with a father.

On our wedding night, Roxane not only exceeded my expectations, she forced me within a breath of my life. I had newfound respect for women. Not only as equals in their fearlessness, but realized that their brains matched their beauty. Even though we had language against us. We came to a mutual understanding. I would never force her to share my bed, and I would never ever let her handle a blade again. Lucky for my male ego, she had only cut my chest. The wound was easily hidden beneath my tunic. We had since consummated our marriage, but I have found that what first intrigued me about her, has also begun to turn me away from her. She had eyes black as the night, hair like a so dark it shone blue under the midday sun, but she had the same jealous and suspicious heart as my mother, and the same possessive, scheming nature. There were occasions that she brought me to the edge of my sanity. Bless the gods for their intervention for she almost drove Hephaestian away.

My eyes drifted closed as I let the water turn my taut muscles to butter. Exhaustion overtook my body, and I fell asleep. It was hours later that I awoke. A cloth was bathing my face with cool water, and I stared up to glittering brown eyes. Her skin glowed in the dim lamp light. A rosy pink crept into her cheeks, as she blushed. Her hand stilled and I reached up to grasp it.

In the next breath, I kissed her. Her lips were as delicious as they looked. Supple and willing. She opened for me, and I tasted her. Sweet as honey, and intoxicating. I pulled at the comb in her hair, already straining against the weight of her curls, the comb snapped in my palm, her hair tumbling down her back. Not caring for the consequences, I pulled her down into the pool. Her gown and robe bellowed around her, her hair weighted further with water, drifted about her head. Her lips were red from my kiss and her eyes were molten with a newly awakened desire. She stood at a distance from me, not making a move to retreat, but not daring to move closer either. I reached for her hand.

"My good king," she whispered, her voice wavering. "I should take my leave."

The tremor in her voice brought me crashing back to the present. This was not a dream. I wish I could claim ignorance to what had processed me to assault her with such disrespect, but I needed only to see her face and I understood my weakness. This was not nine years ago. She was not Stateira. This was her daughter, a Persian princess. After Stateira's death, I promised myself I would treat her family with more dignity and respect. They deserved as much. Perhaps more after what I had done to them. I took Stateira from them. And here I was treating Barsine like a woman from a whorehouse. I shook my head in disgust. I did not stop her as she quietly left the room. If felt like a dishonourable savage again. In a single moment I had brought myself right back to that sad day. The day I lost Stateira.

Had I been blessed with a talent of wisdom and care back then, I would have done the noble deed and married her. I should have taken her back to Babylon and placed her under care fit for a queen. Then perhaps she would not have died in the desert, unmarried, disgraced, alone and with child. Determined to erase past errors, I got out of the pool and pulled on a robe. I called for assistance, and dressed hurriedly. There was a woman I needed to speak with. And by Zeus, I would get it right this time.

The following week was a time of joyous celebration. I sat beside my wife, the most beautiful woman in the world. I looked down at her as I raised my cup. I was blessed that she accepted my hand. "It is with joy that I look across this room. Pride in my men and the women they have taken in marriage this day. Every man who takes a Persian wife will be given a year's wages in gold as dowry. And to his wife, her stone of choice from my treasury. To the blessed unions."

"To Alexander," Cassander shouted, raising his cup. Everyone joined him in the toast, and I revelled in the praise of my men.

I inclined my head to Hephaestian, and raised my cup. Barsine's sister, Drypetis sat to his left.

Hephaestian lifted his cup acknowledging my toast and bowed his head. A brief smile graced his lips, and then disappeared, replaced by a thin line of contemplation.

I had learned much about my extended family over the week past. The two daughter's of Darius were like the night and the day. Barsine of quiet, meek and gentle nature, and Drypetis was strong-minded, untamed and challenging. She was not disrespectful, but she enjoyed herself immensely when she left a man baffled and outwitted. She was as smart as she was beautiful. Barsine was not dull, but she paled in comparison to her sister. Drypetis wasted no time absorbing all the knowledge of the Greek tutors I had commissioned to educate the princesses. And in those nine years, Drypetis had begun teaching other women, much to the chagrin of the male leaders.

Despite her subdue nature, Barsine had a showed an overwhelming interest in my travels. She sat in rap awe as I spoke of the lands that I had crossed and cultures I had experienced. When I asked if she desired to travel, she had almost burst with enthusiasm. I found that her sister shared the same interest in exploring. Had Darius been so narrow minded that he kept them hidden away, and secluded from the outside world? The timid weeping women I'd sent back to Babylon all those years ago were a far cry from the ones I saw now. But they were only children then. They had grown into passionate, intelligent and beautiful women.

The more I learned of her. The more I was convinced that Drypetis was my dear brother's match. I longed for him to find the happiness as I had. And when I arranged the first meeting between them I was almost bursting with curious excitement. I would have had more of a response had I been watching a signet take its first flight. Not that Hephaestian was rude. But his disinterest could not have been more obvious had he said so aloud. I felt sorry for Drypetis. She had been interested to meet him. I had spoken about him in great length to Barsine, who had no doubt shared the stories with her sister.

In reflection perhaps Hephaestian only agreed to the marriage for my sake. I had not been subtle in my wishes. Not less than a day of broaching the subject with him, had I announced proudly to an audience that, "Our children shall be kin."

A mass wedding and five days of celebration followed our union. I was so happy that I did not notice the growing unhappiness of Roxane or the sombre mood of Hephaestian. It was only in the week that followed that I came to realize just what kind of marriage I had arranged.

A loud knock sounded on my door, and I opened my eyes with drowsy annoyance. What kind of crisis would bring them to me at this unholy hour?

"Apologies my king, but the guards arrested a woman coming out of the tunnels beneath the palace."

My surprise must have been plain on my face, for the servant hurried on in explanation. "I only learned of their existence myself. The entrance was overrun with vegetation. The guards heard a noise and went to investigate. She refuses to talk. She is being interrogated as we speak."

The guards threw open the barred door and I strode in. The smell of the room was putrid. Dried blood painted the walls, rats crawled over the dirt floor, and the figure huddled in the corner was pale and shaking. One of the guards hauled her to her feet and threw her to the ground at my feet. She did not look up. Her slender hands quivered either side of her veiled head. Just what had possessed her to try and steal into the palace?

Her attempt at adventure to experience a little freedom had turned from bad to worse. Hephaestian would be notified of his wayward wife and he would become the laughing stock of the entire city. Bad news spread like wildfire, and whispers from the palace even faster. She had brought shame on herself and her husband. That thought brought a painful squeeze inside her chest. She felt tears welling behind her eyes. She didn't feel sorry for herself. She felt sorry for the pain she had unwittingly, and foolishly brought upon her husband. The man she loved, but who had only married her out of duty and honour.

"What is your name?" I queried with impatience.

In spite of herself, Drypetis found that she could not answer. Her lips formed the reply, but no words came out. In a last bit to save a cruel beating from the guard again, she looked up at the king with pleading eyes. The beating came when she did not answer. The guard kicked her hard in the stomach, and she moaned in pain. Clutching her belly, she doubled over and sucked in breath hoping to ease the sting. Had she imagined it, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Did he know?

I could not believe my eyes. It had to be a trick. But there was no mistaking those hazel eyes. Eyes that caught the light and shone green like the Nile or grey like a sudden storm depending on her mood. I clenched my fists. Did she know the penalty of her actions? Did she know the disgrace she had brought on her husband. A woman without an attendant, wondering the city dressed in men's clothes.

The surprise followed by a swift blaze of anger that had flamed in his golden eyes had been enough to send her tongue into retreat. Averting her gaze she waited for the punishing onslaught to come. Her father often beat the women of his house when they brought him shame and embarrassment. It was expected and taught as just, since their king was their master. The gentleness took her unawares.

"Release her and return to your stations," I said gruffly. I didn't trust myself to say more. I prayed desperately that the guards would not press the matter, or I would have been tempted to unleash my anger on them.

Her throat felt tight, and Drypetis swallowed in an effort to dislodge the lump that had formed there. Alexander was lifting her into his arms. He carried her from the cell and up the narrow flight of steps that descended into the palace prison. Once they reached the courtyard, he set her on her feet and pulled her into the shadows behind some hanging vines.

"Do you understand what you have done?" I asked her softly.

Sadly she nodded, and was about to speak and I quieted her with my hand.

"You will never dress in men's garments again. Henceforth, everywhere you go Razul will accompany you. I will send him at dawn. Now go to your chamber. We will never speak of this again." I took off my outer robe and placed it over her small shoulders. The garment dwarfed her in their immense size. The edges folded about her feet and she shivered as a gust of wind stole through our shelter. Tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek.

"Thank you for your kindness," she said with gratitude.

Her sorrowful eyes pierced my heart. I watched her hang her head and cross the yard. I nodded at one of the guards to follow her. If any word of this reached Hephaestian's ears both of those guards would be silenced indefinitely. With all my being I had wished to question her further. Why had she done it? Was she not happy? Her actions would speak against it. I shook my head. "My dear friend, what have I done?"

Razul was a young Egyptian boy. He had been taken captive, along with many others when Alexander's army passed through Gaza. He would not be much of a guard, but if it allowed her the freedom to roam the palace after dark then she would not protest. As she slipped down the corridor to her chamber, she almost cried openly in relief. She felt guilt. Perhaps if she had been punished she would not feel so horrible now. But instead of weeping, she sent a prayer of thanks to her God for the angel of mercy He had sent. For the next few weeks, she scarcely left her room, except to visit with her sister. Being spared from humiliation and shame, she dared not tempt fate. She would do her best to play the role given to her. The meek and dutiful - however unwanted - wife.

Deciding that Hephaestian left me no choice, I called the unhappy couple to my throne. Long had the light that was once sparkled in Drypetis'eyes had been extinguished. And even with the attendance of Razul, she had not ventured further than the women's rooms of the palace.

Hephaestian was the first to arrive having only left to pursue some tasks I had appointed him to do mere moments before. Drypetis did not keep us waiting long.

"I have thought through my plans at length, you will take a third of your battalion and map the terrain and waters that border our new city. Your wife will of course accompany you," I added, much to his obvious discomfiture.

Drypetis on the other hand, was a picture of barely contained excitement. The gleam in her eyes and the clasp of her hands did wonders for my previous concern. I felt a great sense of achievement. I had thought that perhaps forcing his hand would push my friend into requesting a separation, or openly protesting her hindrance to the sudden expedition, but he had not voiced either of my concerns, and I was relieved.

I waved to the servant standing by the window. He brought me an ornate box, and I stepped down from my throne and went to Drypetis. As I approached I saw her tense. I smiled, hoping that would calm her nerves. I would never betray her confidence. Not so long as she respected her part of our agreement.

Opening the box, I lifted out the jeweled anklet. It was solid gold, delicate, yet strong in make. The metal was twisted and moulded to shape a vine, with clusters of diamonds and emeralds that represented lilies and foliage. I read the shock on her face, and her hand trembled as I lifted her palm.

"For you," I said gently smiling. "May the sparkle return, dear princess." I closed her fingers around the anklet. And kissed her cheek. Over her shoulder I noted the flicker of annoyance or was it jealousy in Hephaestian's eyes. I stood back, waiting for a retort on the extravagance of the gift, or the unwelcome nature of the gift. But none came. I was disappointed, not that I did not enjoy bestowing jewelry on women, especially beautiful women. It was that this time it served a dual purpose. And from the reaction it did not receive, I could tell it was a lost cause.

Watching Drypetis study the gift with quiet curiosity, I thought perhaps it was not a complete waste. No doubt she would look into its history. Discover its origins and wear it with pride. It once belonged to a Pharaoh's lover. It was his marriage gift to her. She wore it always. The inscription in its band was in Arabic, and it read, 'My desert temptress, my delicate flower, and the essence of my soul,' a passionate omission from a man in love. Perhaps that would provoke something, if the trinket did not. As I watched them leave the room, I saw a frown knit across the brow of my friend. Though he may deny it, I did believe he was growing fond of the woman.

After they returned from the expedition, there was a change between them. But still they did not seem like a pair in love. Not once since their marriage night, had they shared a bed. Having guards and servants crawling throughout the palace, it was easy to discover if someone was alone. A joke had spread among the men about providing the princess with some entertainment, since she was obviously bored. She had made good use of Razul since their return. He was often seen trailing after her, as she wandered the palace at night. At first I had found it humorous, but as the stories stretched in persistence, so did my patience. The joke would end. His honour as a man was being tested. And as my vizier, it reflected poorly on me. That morning when I sought a private audience with him, I was annoyed to discover that he had not left his chamber yet. As I was about to knock and burst in, someone flew at my ankles and clung tightly, pouring out apologies with desperate intensity. I managed to shuffle a short distance from the door, and haul the girl to her feet.

"What is the matter?" I queried with a sharp hiss. She was causing a scene, and already two women further down the passage had paused to observe.

She looked at the door and then up at me. "My lady. She is..."

I broke out in laughter. My relief was so sudden in its intensity, I felt tears pooling in my eyes. Seeing the girl's shocked face, I patted her arm. "I will leave them be. You have my word. When you do see my Vizier, tell him I wish to speak with him."

The girl nodded furiously. And took her post again a short distance away. I walked away grinning broadly. It was fast becoming a very good day.

In council chambers, we were greeted by an unusually beaming Hephaestian, who was uncharacteristically late in joining the group. He apologised for not appearing on time, and went on to give his report without further delay. No one else seemed to know what had brought on the change. I did however, and during his speech I smiled with that secret knowledge, relieved to know that my first instincts about their match were finally proving correct.

But all was not to last. Like the spring before the harsh winter, the flowers that bloomed with fragile perfection, shed their petals and blended with the earth. No more would the same flower ever appear, their scent and beauty soon to be a distant memory. If only our lives had played out differently before my eyes. The painful moments too many in number, the joyous ones too far and few. How short it had all been. Far too short, only 21 years. Barely half of the lifetime we dreamed we would share together. The one son I did have to young to wear a crown, and the other a bastard son, who would never see a throne. And my poor Hephaestian. No child to continue his legacy. The blame would not rest with Drypetis. The woman loved her husband. It had been too little too late. If anything I blame myself for letting Hephaestian too close. Perhaps our love had claimed all of his heart. And blinded him to the love of another. But regrets would not bring him back. Part of my dream ended the day Hephaestian died. Perhaps part of myself too. Perhaps if I had remembered my mother's counsel. If I had listened to Drypetis and Stateria instead of closing them both out, then maybe my own legacy would have had more promise.

As I drank from my cup, I could feel the liquid burn a trail of fire down my throat. Often I had used the drink to numb my troubles. To blur the faces that plagued my waking hours. To drown the voices that screamed and tore for my attention. The more I took in the better I felt. It was like being awake, but in a dream. The peace was fleeting, but so it seemed, was the tale of my days as a conqueror. That evening was different from all the others. After falling into a dreamless sleep from the effects of the wine, I awoke the next morning to a raging fever. It lasted unbroken for three months. I drifted between consciousness and dream state, never knowing which was real, and each instance I awoke to feel the pain, I prayed that the sickness would cease.

"Please Alexander, you must live." I heard Roxane pleading, the desperation in her voice, the sound of her cries. I knew they were all there - all of them - my advisors, my mentors, the leaders of my campaigns, waiting.

Waiting for me to name a successor. Waiting for me to die. Not one of them did I believe wished for me to win this battle. Every one of them were wagering on my death. All of their dreams, all of their plans depended on it. How I had not seen their secret desires? Why had I had been blind to their conspiracy? How long had they been waiting, perhaps planning this moment? Only two women were in mourning beside me, one at my head, and the other at my feet. Two gracious sisters, unmatched in beauty and wisdom. Both worthy of more than I ever gave, but both accepting much less. With what little strength I had, I brought Stateria's fingers to my lips.

"You are free of me," I whispered my voice breaking.

My vision was blurred and the room echoed with voices. Too many voices. I could feel my veins pulsing in my neck, and the blood thundering in my ears. Breath…I need air, cannot breathe.

"You must name your successor. To whom do you leave your rule, Alexander?" Cassander demanded.

"The fittest," I gasped. "…the strongest."

The room fell silent. Drypetis stood, and walked to the head of the bed to kneel by her sister. Taking her in her arms, they each cried openly into the still warm body of their king. A man once strong and powerful enough to put fear into the heart of the most seasoned warrior, son of a god he himself had claimed, was mortal in the end.

**Feedback is always welcome. Thank you for reading.**

**References:** Jona Lendering (1996-2005) "Alexander The Great" (online) http: www. livius. org/aj-al/alexander/alexander00. html visited 25-27 Jan 2005


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